


Let Me Get What I Want

by lit103



Category: Ferris Bueller's Day Off (1986)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-11 00:20:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3308660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lit103/pseuds/lit103
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh come on,” Ferris begs. “The Christian kids will start a ‘Save Ferris’ fund as in save Ferris’s <i>soul</i> and the rest of the school will raise like a billion dollars for gay rights and we’ll get our own float in the Pride Parade and it’ll be the greatest thing <i>ever.</i>”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Get What I Want

Ferris Bueller wants a lot of things. He wants a car, for one. He wants to find his long-lost twin so he can make him go to school instead of Ferris—or better yet, clone himself and make the clone do it. A clone would be more obedient than a long-lost twin, anyway. And there’s other stuff he wants, stuff he doesn’t let himself think about too much, especially not when he’s making out with Sloane in the janitor’s closet between classes and she pulls back and looks up at him with her eyes all huge and says, “Ferris, I feel like all we ever do is make out, and it’s nice and all, but—do you ever wanna, you know, try something else?” and Ferris is all “Sloane, I would like nothing more than to try something else, but right now I gotta get to class,” and Sloane furrows her brow and goes “You? Get to class?” and Ferris yells “Yup! There’s the bell! Bye!” and bolts before Sloane can finish saying “Bell? I didn’t hear any b—”

This is the story of how Ferris Bueller got what he wanted.

*

It starts with play wrestling in a corner of the stadium near the soft pretzel vendor, which kind of turns into real wrestling, which kind of turns into something else, but Ferris is saved from having to think about exactly _what_ else by Cam’s shirt riding up and Cam pulling away. By the time it sinks in that what he’s seeing on is a bruise on Cam’s ribs—nasty, purplish green, kind of Florida-shaped—Cam’s yanking his shirt down, glaring at him.

“Cameron,” Ferris says, “what is that?”

“Present from my dad when he got home from work on Friday,” Cam says, flashing Ferris a lopsided grin without meeting his eyes. “TGIF, right?”

“Is _that_ why you stayed home from school today?”

“No, dumb-dumb,” Cam says, _snork_ ing loudly through his nose. “This time I’m actually sick. The time before this, though? Dear old Dad pushed me into the edge of a cabinet. Kept me out of school til the black eye faded. Not that I was exactly begging him to go, if you know what I mean.” He elbows Ferris in the ribs in this gross faux-chummy way that makes Ferris feel sick.

“Wait,” he says stupidly. This doesn’t make any sense. “I thought your dad just... loved his car more than he loved you or whatever. He _hits_ you? _Why?_ ”

“Because,” Cam says, still not looking at Ferris, hands balled into fists, “because he says I’m... he says I’m... and he couldn’t know that, nobody could know that, I’ve never done anything like that—”

“Cam,” Ferris says slowly, “anything like _what_?”

Cam looks up. He meets Ferris’s eyes. He opens his mouth.

“Hey guys!” Sloane chirps from right behind them. “I got soft pretzels! Anyone want mustard?”

Ferris and Cam spring guiltily apart. Ferris hadn’t realized til that moment how close together they were standing. “No,” he says, not taking his eyes off Cam, “no mustard for me, Sloane, thanks,” and he and Cam eat their pretzels, cheer on the Cubs, and practice not talking about any of this ever again.

*

Not talking about it, however, doesn’t stop Ferris from _thinking_ about it, which he does pretty much constantly for the rest of the day. The car turns out to have 301 and like 90% of the way between 6 and 7 tenths on it, and Cam goes catatonic. “Cameron?” Sloane says, gently slapping his cheeks. “Cam? Can you hear me?” Before today, Ferris would have thought Cam was scared of his Dad _yelling_ at him, but now his head’s full of lurid and probably inaccurate images of Cam cowering in a corner with his dad looming over him, wielding a tube sock with a bar of soap in it or something. Ferris has never seen someone get beaten before, except in movies or TV or whatever. He has no idea what it actually looks like.

“Ferris?” Sloane says. “We’d better try something else. This isn’t working,” and, leaning over Cam, face inches away from his, Ferris—in a flash of inspiration—knows exactly what _would_ work, and if Sloane weren’t there he’d definitely do it, he’s this close to doing it, but he doesn’t—not til later when they’re safely underwater, Sloane a wavering, indistinct shape high above them and nothing below her but blue-green water, perfect silence, and the pounding of Ferris’ heart as he grabs Cam’s face with both hands and kisses him, hard. Cam’s eyes fly open in shock and he makes a muffled noise, then grabs Ferris’ face and kisses back harder.

It’s weird and slippery and the most wonderful thing Ferris has ever done—til he gets water up his nose and Cam has to pull _him_ to the surface, choking and sputtering. “Ferris?! Oh my god,” Sloane cries. “I’ll go get a towel,” and the moment she leaves Ferris grabs Cam and pulls him in for another kiss, but there’s still water in his nose and he breaks away, coughing, just as Sloane comes back. “Cam?” she says, bending over him. “He stills looks kind of catatonic,” and Ferris gasps, “No no, he’s fine, he just needs, um, an Oreo—yeah, an Oreo—” and as she goes to get one Cam turns his head and whispers, breath hot against Ferris’ ear, “Do something, Ferris—do anything—pretend to be her dad and say her grandmother’s dead, I don’t care, just _please_ —”

*

This can’t possibly work again, Ferris thinks, but neither of them is in any fit state to think of something better and—with the aid of a couple card-carrying freshman members of the Save Ferris Fund—they somehow pull it off. Neither says a word on the way to Cam’s house, but Ferris pulls over on the one-lane dirt road through the woods, climbs on top of Cam, and makes out with him for what feels like forever. Cam likes it when Ferris kisses his neck, likes it even more when he sucks it, and likes it even more when he sucks it hard, and when Ferris pulls away, gasping, “Cam, no, it’ll leave a mark,” Cam says “I want it to leave a goddamn mark,” and Ferris pulls away and says “No, Cam, Jesus Christ, I will not be the reason your fucking father beats you later,” and Cam smiles crookedly.

“I’m not gonna be here later,” he says. “I’m gonna drive this car off a cliff, grab my plasma ball, leave that house, and never come back.”

There aren’t any cliffs near Cam’s house, but they drive the car through the garage wall, which is almost as good, then Ferris shoves Cam up against the wall, drops to his knees, and sucks him off fast and messy as the minutes tick by: 5:53, 5:54, 5:55... Five minutes til Cam’s dad comes home and he pulls away, saying “Tell me it’s the best you’ve ever had,” and Cam says “It’s the _only_ I’ve ever had, Ferris, please don’t stop”—and when Ferris shows no sign of starting again, gasps “God, okay, it’s the best, Ferris, it’s the best, it’s the best, it’s the best—” and comes the instant Ferris gets his mouth around him again.

They grab the plasma ball and peel out with one minute to spare, Cam driving and zipping his pants up at the same time and practically running his father off the one-lane road on their way out of the woods.

Cam stays at Ferris’s for the rest of the semester. They skip ten out of the twenty-three remaining days of school and Rooney can’t do a thing about it, because Jeanie told him she’d only give him back the cards from his wallet—plus, you know, not tell the cops that he broke into her house—if he looked the other way for the rest of the year. So Ferris’ attendance record is, at least officially, spotless. His parents think Cam’s a good influence on him. Cam and Ferris, for their part, spend the ten days they skip—and pretty much every night—fucking in Ferris’ bed, with an elaborate alarm system rigged up to warn them when someone’s coming. Jeanie figures out what’s going on after about a week; it would normally have taken her a day, but she’s too busy sneaking Police Station Boy in and out of her bedroom to pay much attention to what anyone else is up to. She informs Ferris that she knows what’s going on, and she’s cool with it. Ferris sets her up an alarm system of her own as a thank you.

Cam gets into a really good school on the East coast; Ferris gets into a slightly less good one in the same state. They haven’t talked about it yet, but they both kind of assume that’s where they’re going. Cam spends the entire night before graduation talking Ferris out of dragging him onto the stage and making out with him during it; Ferris’ parents will be there, and they definitely won’t let Cam stay for the summer if Ferris does _that_. “Oh come on,” Ferris begs, “the Christian kids will start a ‘Save Ferris’ fund as in save Ferris’s _soul_ and the rest of the school will raise like a billion dollars for gay rights and we’ll get our own float in the Pride Parade and it’ll be the greatest thing _ever_.”

They graduate. They don’t make out onstage, but Ferris does whisper some choice words in Rooney’s ear on his way off it, which is like 30% as satisfying. Ferris gets a job as a fry cook at McDonalds. Cam’s dad comes over one night, like a dozen beers deep, to try and bring Cam back home and Ferris’ mom hits him on the head with a bedroom slipper. They ride around in Cam’s piece of shit car a lot. Sometimes Ferris thinks, as they tear along the coast of Lake Michigan with the windows down and Dream Academy blasting on the radio, that he should really be worrying about the future, but then he thinks there might not be anything to worry about at all. The sun is hot, the sky is blue, the Dream Academy guy’s singing _Please, please, please, let me get what I want_ , and Cam yells “Hey Ferris! What do you want?” and there’s no car of his own and there’s no clone but, for once in his life, Ferris Bueller can’t think of a single thing.


End file.
